A Little Boy Lost
Автор книги William Blake
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Nought loves another as itself,
Nor venerates another so,
Nor is it possible to thought.
A greater than itself to know.
'And, father, how can I love you.
Or any of my brothers more?
I love you like the little bird.
That picks up crumbs around the door.'
The Priest sat by and heard the child;
In trembling zeal he seized his hair,
He led him by his little coat,
And all admired the priestly care.
